


Night After Night

by gracediamondsfear



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Canon Divergent, D/s, Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Masturbation, Harry Potter AU, incubus, more tags to come but want to avoid spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-19 02:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracediamondsfear/pseuds/gracediamondsfear
Summary: I HAVE NOT ABANDONED THIS FIC...but let's call it a HIATUS as I am currently having a brain explosion trying to work on three other projects at the same time. THE INCUBUS WILL BE BACK.Ginny’s having trouble sleeping, plagued by powerful dreams she can’t remember in the morning. As time goes by she feels her energy being drained, her dreams affecting her daily life. One day she wakes and finds herself branded by an unusual mark. She turns to an unlikely ally for help and when Draco vows to get to the bottom of what’s going on, it only makes her problem worse.





	1. Chapter 1

Ginny contemplated apparating up the six floors to her suite, having just showered and cleaned up from two hours of conditioning training out at the pitch and having no interest in getting sweaty and exhausted again chasing staircases all over the castle. Of course there were no Quidditch matches anymore, but sixth, seventh and now older “Masters” students were subjected to physical training not unlike the Royal Army, preparing them for when the war inevitably started up again. Rules regarding apparition and magic in the corridors no longer applied to the students in the Training Barracks, which was what the sixth and seventh floors were now called. So she simply thought of the incredible softness of her four-poster bed and in the blink of an eye, she was there standing in front of it, debating whether to sleep in her clothes. It was only eight o’clock but she was exhausted from a full day of repairing greenhouses, intensive healer training _and_ conditioning. On top of it all, she hadn’t been sleeping well.

“Are you coming down to the common room for Happy Hour?” Luna asked, coming out of their shared bathroom, toweling off her hair. She’d made a terrible mistake with a drying and smoothing charm the previous year and had lost half the length of her hair so she no longer trusted magic when it came to basic beauty treatments. “Everyone will be there…some new recruits that came over from Beauxbatons want to know which boys are worth pursuing.

Ginny laughed but Luna’s face seemed dead serious, as if wistful young romances were high on the priority list right now. If you asked Ginny, none of the boys at Hogwarts were worth pursuing. There wasn’t much they could offer she couldn’t do for herself and every one of them were damaged in some strange way from the events of the last couple years, Ginny included. The world seemed far too dark and uncertain for things like flowery love songs and flirting with boys. In fact she hadn’t thought of things like sex or romance at all since Harry had disappeared.

“No thanks, lady. I’m going to tuck in early tonight. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, maybe I need to check out a little earlier.”

Luna cocked her head in suspicion and shouldered past Ginny, looking into the corners of her bedroom, no doubt for some inexplicable invisible creature that stole sleep. She pulled her wand out of her cardigan pocket and cast some Latin charm under her breath, tilting her head to the side when a tiny stream of red smoke burst from the end of it.

“Something dark. There was a dark artifact in this room. I’m detecting traces of it. It was here but it’s gone. Perhaps you’ll sleep better now that the elves have sorted your room.”

“Th-thanks Luna,” Ginny said, doing her best not to roll her eyes. No one had been in her room except Luna and Hermione since the beginning of the term three weeks ago, and certainly no one hiding dark artifacts around. Ginny had become something of a hermit, or maybe just an introvert in the years since the war started, finding quiet solitude far more pleasant than the constant pressure of socialization. Like so many of her fellow recruits, she was doing her damnedest to avoid the “well wishes” or “we’re thinking of yous” from old friends and new students. And being so close to the now broken “Golden Trio”, she and Luna and the others were a bit famous around Hogwarts and that was the one thing that had nearly kept her away altogether. She had no interest in being a storybook character, being called upon to entertain the youth with her war stories. “Tell the gang I’ll see them tomorrow.”

 

*****

She woke in blackness. It felt wrong, this false, heavy sort of darkness, given that she’d left the draperies pulled and the two narrow windows open to let in the cool Autumn air. She found that she slept better in the light of the moon. Yet even after giving her eyes a moment to adjust there was nothing, not even her hand in front of her face, and the air was oppressive, like the damp of a basement or dungeon.

“My sweet, lonely girl,” his voice said, the words soft, low and drawn out near her ear, poured out like honey.

She felt the heat of a body near her but when she reached out, there was nothing to touch.

“Who are you? Who’s there? Get out!” She reached for her wand on the bedside table; but there was no wand, no table. There was nothing. “What’s happening?”

“You keep calling for me in your sleep, little girl. Such a need you have. Do you feel it?”

Suddenly her body shivered all over with goosebumps and she felt a clenching of the muscles between her legs, a coiling tension like when Harry used to steal a kiss in the hallway, or pulled her close to nuzzle her neck, the touch of his wet lips causing that heavy heat low in her belly. In the dark she heard a low chuckling sound.

“No, not for kisses love, you want something more now that you’re…ready. Those kisses were for schoolgirls. That’s not who you are anymore. Touch yourself and see how ready you are. See how wet I make you. Just the sound of my voice is enough. Just the thought of it.”

As he spoke she felt fingers tracing over her arms, feather light touches across her collarbones and the tender skin of her neck. She was naked. There were no blankets. Something was terribly wrong and yet she felt pulled to do what the voice commanded. It was hypnotic, its cadence so warm and slow.

“Ginevra, you’re not behaving. Is it punishment you want? You know I give that, too.”

“You’re wrong. I don’t know anything about you,” she said, her voice softer now, less indignant, her curiosity pushing through her fear. “Who are you? What’s happening?”

She felt warm, satin soft lips closing over her mouth, a hot, smooth tongue sweeping between her lips. It was a deep, invasive kiss, it felt filthy and perverse and she wanted more of it, spearing her own tongue into the mouth of the man she didn’t know, the man she couldn’t see, invigorated by the low, animal groans coming from deep in his throat. He broke away and moved to her neck, kissing and suckling at the place where her pulse fluttered beneath her skin.

“You do something for me, pretty girl and I’ll show you who I am…if you really want to see.”

“Do wha…what?”

“I already told you what.” His tongue tickled her ear as he clucked in disapproval. “Please listen when I’m speaking to you, girl. I want to see you touch yourself, show me how wet you are. How ready you are for me.”

She immediately slid her hand down the front of her naked body and between her parted legs, her fingers coated with her slick juices in an instant, her skin sensitive enough that she gasped at her own touch.

“Yessss, hold them up,” he said, “let me taste.”

In the darkness she felt that same hot tongue swirl around her fingers, cleaning the juices off. The tongue seemed longer than it should be, just a bit, and she wondered if it was a trick of her mind.

“Let me see you now,” she said. “Please.”

Pale skin, hair like white gold hanging raggedly in front of flashing gun metal eyes, his face and naked body smeared in black, as if he were pulled from the ashes. Around his neck was a thick silver chain that glinted in the tiniest sliver of light he allowed. Again his tongue flicked out to clean the shine of her own cream off his lips and she saw that it was indeed long and narrow flicking out like a serpent…like a dragon, but he was just a man…he looked like…

 

She woke to the time charm she’d set, groaning with exhaustion and defeat. Something like a lost dream tugged at her memory, fading as fast as she tried to grasp for it, a silver chain…a snake tongue, a kiss. She shivered and pulled herself out of bed, the rest of the dream gone. Her body ached, most likely from the previous day’s conditioning, and she moved at a sluggish pace, dressing herself and pulling her hair back into a loose knot.

“Are you sick?” Hermione met her out in the hallway, looking bright and chipper, perfect as always, even her god damn hair smooth and shiny.

“Fucking knackered. I’m just not used to this schedule yet I guess,” Ginny said as they made their way down to the rehabbed Great Hall for breakfast. “Why isn’t anyone as tired as I am?”

In the years after the battle, Hogwarts had changed. With a need for more training in Dark Arts and more knowledge of how to fight off those faithful to Voldemort, the rebuilding had been split into two – the school and the training base. They were technically in peace time as the Death Eaters, the dark wizards, and all those fighting on the Dark Lord’s behalf had been conquered and the worst of them imprisoned, but Voldemort himself had disappeared completely, along with Harry, Ron and Neville. With their absence the rest of the Wizarding population was left to wonder when any of them would return. Days? Months? Never? Whatever the answer, they needed more preparation to keep the school safe, to keep wizarding safe.

After their fifth year, students who wanted to serve with the now growing and invigorated Order of The Phoenix were moved to the “training barracks” on the sixth and seventh floor. Being older and supposedly more responsible, they were each given their own private room with common rooms for dueling and studying and potions labs for research. They had fewer rules, more freedom and there were no longer houses to compete. Much like the real world, once they chose to fight for the side of Light, the competition between them was over.

In the hopes that older recruits would serve as mentors and role models to the younger students, meals were still taken together - the front of the Hall reserved for the younger students broken into houses, sitting together in their matching black robes, while the back, was more of a common area, set with small tables and chairs, café style, so people could sit and study or eat with whomever they wished.

Hermione and Ginny walked in to find the Café Commons empty except for Malfoy, all in black as usual, sitting alone at a small table with tea and a book, scribbling notes in the margins. He only lifted his eyes to both of them before going back to his reading, giving a clear signal that he was not particularly interested in company.

 

 

As part of his plea deal with the Ministry he’d agreed to return to Hogwarts for the last part of the rebuilding process, complete his training and then to train selected students in Occlumency. Along the way he was expected to offer any insights into enemy philosophies in order to better prepare them for inevitable battle.

“We don’t ask you to do this as a punishment, Draco,” the review board insisted; and in fact the ministry representative currently speaking was giving him the overly forced, false smile you give to people when you’re issuing a punishment. “We ask you to do this because in your heart, we know it’s what you _want_ to do.”

“Respectfully, in my heart, I just want to go to France and live as a well appointed hermit,” he said, crossing and re-crossing his legs, uncomfortable with his position in a straight backed chair four steps below the board who stared down at him as if he were awaiting execution. After he’d spoken he heard a delicate throat clearing and looked over at his parents watching him from the gallery. His mother's eyebrow arched up into its position of maximum disappointment.

It was McGonagall who spoke next, and as much as their relationship had strained to the tension of a guitar string over the years, he still found her presence comforting. It had been McGonagall and not Snape who had ushered him into her office first year to assure him that homesickness was something every young student felt and that crying about it was nothing to be ashamed of. Of course she’d also given him detention out in the Forbidden Forest chasing Unicorn killers so she wasn’t all roses and light.

“Draco, all your life you’ve hesitated between what you want and what is right, between choosing what you’ve been told and what you believe, and I know it’s an exhausting endeavor. But one thing you’ve always loved is learning. You are almost a prodigy in potions, an expert at Occlumency and now I hear you are managing small feats of wandless magic. Perhaps your place is back at Hogwarts, where you can help the ones you once were so desperate to hurt.”

“And my carpentry skills, will they be put to good use again?” He asked, rubbing a scuff mark out of his shoe. “Any other dangerous cursed objects you want to put into the hands of a child?”

He stood then, even though he hadn’t been released. He didn’t like being backed into emotional corners, people watching for him to crack, to cry, to fail. He knew very well that his parents had already discussed his fate with the board and that he had no say, once again, in what his future held.

“And tell me, the ones who hurt me, who manipulated me? Will they be there too?” He didn’t pause long enough for anyone to answer as most of those people were dead or gone anyway. “Understand me. I’m going back to Hogwarts because you’re right, learning…reading …improving my magic is what I want most, but don’t pretend that everyone will be standing at the door, welcoming me in with open arms.”

 

He was mostly right. His good name preceded him and the younger students avoided him like the plague, afraid perhaps that his white hair and dark mark were catching. He was a bit broader, a bit taller and darker than he had been in school, having spent most of the rebuilding years in the south of France with his family, hiding from scandal; but there was no mistaking those steely eyes and that smug, sneering mouth.

In the end, it was only Hermione Granger and Blaise Zabini who openly wished him well, or offered to help him get settled, joining him at meals and inviting him to study group. He suspected Hermione did it because she was desperate to be remembered as a saint among witches and Blaise, well, he never did grow tired of his coat tails.

 

“Good morning,” Hermione said, ignoring his desire to be left alone, stopping at his table with Ginny Weasley.

“I suppose,” he said, only giving them one eye’s worth of attention.

But Ginny quickly caught the other eye. Her face, her hair, her body…they hadn’t changed very much since he’d last seen her, but it was the way she carried herself that was different. For one, she wasn’t walking around in Harry’s shadow anymore, and he suspected having lost him left her a bit harder, her thoughts a bit darker, rough around the edges. It was intriguing. There was…something there. She’d had the shine knocked off of her and it made her appealing somehow.

“Weaselette,” he said, giving her his smarmiest smile.

“Mmm,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Good to see some things never change. Gonna write some more songs for us?”

She spat that particular bit of venom with her own tight-lipped smile, looking him over as he chatted with Hermione. He’d never been _bad_ looking, and his suits had always been impeccable, but now he’d grown into them. Of course he was a touch more casual now, his shirt unbuttoned enough to show a little bit of his light golden chest hair, his hair was a bit longer, hanging in front of his eye rather than styled to perfection.

_Like white gold, hanging in front of his eye._

She felt an odd flicker of memory when he looked up at her, a memory of something that wasn’t real or that she’d forgotten and couldn’t recall. She’d seen the color of his eyes before, had of course heard all about them in a thousand different ways from the Gryffindor girls who were dying to walk on the dark side, but now they seemed different; maybe just older, maybe a bit darker.

_Flashing gun metal eyes.  
_

It didn’t matter. She walked away to get her breakfast, leaving Hermione, who had pulled up a chair to make small talk.

********

Classes were different for the older students, smaller groups, more specific topics. In the mornings they were still focused on the history of wizarding, but the focus was more towards the legal and political history, making sure everyone was aware of the attitudes and beliefs that lead them to this point, that lead them to this “time of disruption”. It was hard to say they were at war since both sides had stepped down from the brink…but it was a time of building tension, a time of division, a time when everyone waited for the other shoe to drop. Unfortunately, the only way to learn these things was through sitting and listening to someone drone on and on in a room that was too warm and soon Ginny found herself zoning out, her body jerking her back awake at the last minute, a little shot of adrenaline giving her another ten minutes or so of energy.

“Ginny…” she heard a sharp whisper beside her; Hermione of course, shooting daggers at with her eyes. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, I told you I’m just tired.”

The bell rang and the small group of history students stood to leave, Malfoy gliding between Ginny and Hermione to leave the room first.

“Good show, Ginevra,” he drawled. “It was like watching the undead try to learn.”

She snapped her head up to fire something back, but the look on his face was a bit softer than when he usually flung insults. It was almost as if he were…joking? She decided to just smile instead, to show she could take a joke; to show that she was no longer intimidated.

*******

She skipped lunch and begged McGonagall for a pass out of the afternoon’s conditioning, citing a fear that she was getting the flu. The hospital wing had an apothecary now, distributing weak, basic potions to older students without bothering any of the healers, and so she stopped in to get a calming draught, determined to get some rest. She drew the curtains as well as pulling the draperies around her fourposter and tucked herself into bed. Hermione was going to wake her for dinner.

*******

 

She sat down to eat with Hermione and Luna, feeling energized and refreshed after a three hour nap. She’d fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep almost immediately and Hermione had had to practically light her on fire to get her to wake up.

“You smell like a basement,” Ginny muttered to the two girls, who sat at the table with soaking wet hair, boots and jeans covered in mud.

“We had a hunt through the forest,” Hermione said, trying to finger comb the knots out of her hair and coming away with a handful of small sticks and leaves.

“It was actually fun,” Luna offered brightly, “until it started to rain. I’m not even sure who won. We had to find little statues. But after two hours and most of it in the cold rain, almost everyone gave up and came in to dinner.”

As if on cue, a soaking wet Draco opened the side door of the Great Hall with a bang, a swirl of rain and leaves splattering to the floor behind him. He was wearing black knee high boots and riding pants and a long leather jacket that was dripping all over the floor. His hair hung soaked around his mud streaked face and in his gloved hand was a white marble Chimaera.

_His body smeared in black as if pulled from the ashes_

He strode over to their table with a wide, devastating smile on his face and slammed the statue down, rattling all of their dishes. Ginny noticed that Hermione was smiling too, looking up at him with some sort of pride.

“Aha! I knew you’d find it!” She said, clapping her hands together.

Draco just stood silently, looking over at the other tables as he pulled his wet gloves off one finger at a time, like a king surveying his court. He smelled like rain and sweat and mud and Ginny couldn’t stop staring at him, feeling the cold air around him, watching his chest heave as he caught his breath.

“Two days, no conditioning,” he called out, holding the Chimaera up so the rest of the recruits could see. “Lovegood, Granger and Me. Since when were the rest of you assholes afraid of a little rain?”

Luna giggled and looked at a confused Ginny. “We were split up in teams. Draco told us we could go in, he would find the statue himself. And now we don’t have to go to conditioning until Friday!”

“MISter Malfoy,” the voice of McGonagall turned everyone’s head as she marched over from the staff table that was now positioned in the center of the underclassmen. She walked straight up to Draco, completely unfazed by how he towered over her. “You will remember that there are first year students here and they do not appreciate hearing that kind of language.”

“So sorry, headmistress,” he bowed gracefully and pushed his hair back from his face. “I won’t do it again.” His smile was genuine and Ginny felt a little flutter in her stomach at his gallantry.

“See that you don’t!” She said, floating away with her robes billowing out behind her, back towards the staring underclassmen.

Draco sat down at the table with the three girls, pulling a small red potato off of Luna’s plate and eating it in one bite. She, of course, said nothing, just smiled, running her fingers over the marble statue.

“Why weren’t you out there?” Draco said, pulling food off of Hermione’s plate next. “I could have gotten you out of conditioning for two days, Red.”

“I was resting. So that I don’t look like a zombie in history class,” she said, pulling her plate closer to her to avoid having to have to stab him with a fork.

“If you ask me, I think she’s been cursed,” Luna said, eating tiny, bird like bites of a pumpkin tart. “Someone’s put a jinx or a hex on her. She hasn’t slept at night for three days.”

“Why would someone curse Ginny?” Hermione asked. “Malfoy? Sure, but Ginny? I don’t think she’s ever had an enemy in her life.”

“No,” Luna said, “but she’s easily manipulated. Just look at Tom Riddle’s Diary.”

Ginny dropped her fork, Hermione choked on her bite of carrot and Draco dropped his head dramatically, hitting it gently on the table three times.

“Thank you, Luna. We all remember that I was possessed as a child,” Ginny said, her chair screeching backwards as she stood. “It’s been nearly ten years since that happened and I think I’m a little less pliable these days. I am not possessed currently, I’m not cursed or hexed or a zombie, I’m just tired. But thank you all for your concern.”

Draco couldn’t hide his smile as she stormed out of the Great Hall and everyone turned to watch her go.

*********

“Spread your legs for me,” he said.

She blinked in the darkness and saw him, sitting like a king on his throne at the foot of her bed. His chair was black leather with heavy silver upholstery studs and he lounged in it casually, one leg thrown over the arm, wearing nothing but faded jeans, ripped and worn, streaked with dirt and oil, thick black leather cuffs around both of his wrists. The silver chain around his neck hung like a leash over his chest, but he was clearly under no one’s control. Black iron lanterns with dripping red candles hung around her bed as if she were on display, expected to perform, or on an altar - expecting to be sacrificed.

“You’re so hesitant, playing shy with me, but I know you want it,” he repeated. “Or maybe you’d prefer to be forced.”

“No,” she said, lying back against the red silk pillows, her skin slipping over the decadent, blood colored sheets. “I’ll do it.”

She leaned back on her elbows and spread her legs, resting her feet on the wrought iron footboard, her face flaring with heat. He smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, as if examining her cunt.

“Dripping,” he said, drawing in an anticipatory breath through his teeth. “I could live on your honey.”

He prowled towards her and crouched at the foot of the bed, holding her legs wide, dragging his tongue up the inside of her thigh all the way to her ankle, sucking her toes deep into his mouth. She whined and threw her head back, shivering with need, feeling the touch of his tongue everywhere on her body. He moved back between her legs and kissed her once on her waiting, open pussy, before licking over the other leg and pushing them both up and back towards her ears. She instantly felt something tight around her ankles, holding her open and exposed so perversely she could feel her whole body blush. Her arms flew out to her sides and she felt them strapped down, unable to move an inch. She watched as he settled between her spread thighs and slid his tongue deep inside her, curling and thrusting, the wet sounds of his sucking lips filling her belly with heat. He fucked her mercilessly with his tongue, suckling at her clit to bring her to the edge of climax and then pulling away to sweep between her shining slick lips. Her legs burned with pain in their position, trembled with pent up energy that pushed her toward orgasm. With every pass of his tongue she tried to push against his face, to grind and hump his mouth like an animal.

“I want to fuck you tonight, sweet girl. Can I fuck you?” He asked, wiping his mouth off on her milky white thigh. “Your pussy is aching for it. I can smell it. I can see it.”

“C-c-can I touch you?” she asked, embarrassed at the desperation in her own voice.

In an instant her bonds were gone and he was on top of her, his teeth scraping against her throat. He was naked now and she wrapped her arms around him, begging him to take her, to bring her over the edge. He reared back and she saw his eyes, that flashing gunmetal grey. She knew him. He wasn’t a stranger.

“When I fuck you, sweet, you’ll be marked for me. You’ll be mine. Only mine. Night after night.”

“Will…will you hurt me?” She asked, her voice small, almost childlike.

He stroked her cheek with his long fingers, sharp pointed nails dragging down over her throat to the space between her breasts. The trail his fingers laid down was like fire on her skin and she arched up to meet it. He smiled wide, a wide, familiar smile that calmed her fears until his fingers pressed hard on her sternum and she felt a searing pain down deep, digging into her heart.

“Oh yes, my little kitten. It will hurt.”

The fear returned and she tried to squirm out from under him but he held her down easily. With one strong hand he pinned her wrists over her head, with the other he held her jaw tight, her teeth biting hard into her cheek until she tasted blood.

“You’ll come to want the hurt. You’ll be unable to live with out it. One day very soon, you’ll beg me for it. I promise you that.”

She writhed and screamed, bucking her hips up hard to try and knock him off balance. But he only laughed spreading her legs with his strong thighs and pushing himself inside her tight, wet sex.

“Ahhhh…” he shuddered in surprise delight. “An innocent.”

She felt hot tears sliding down over her temples as he pulled out and thrust in again, his length and heavy thickness stretching her to the point of pain. He kissed her open mouth, his tongue hot and salty, earthy tasting over hers. His hips moved faster as she went limp, in pain and defeat beneath him.

“Shhhh, my little kitten. Don’t cry. You were meant for me. Your body aches for me. Can’t you feel how we fit together?”

He pulled one of her hands down to the space where they were joined, parting two of her fingers into a V so she could feel his wet, velvety smooth length sliding inside then pulling out slick with her juices. She was warm, too warm, her hips starting to roll and move with his thrusts, her heart racing.

“I’m going to fill you. You’ll feel it leaking hot on your thighs long after I’ve gone,” he growled, every pump of his hips making her cry out, her teeth sunk into her bottom lip.

“Yes,” she said. “Please. Please.”

His own hand pushed hers aside to circle the tight pearl of nerves hidden in her folds as her insides rippled over the length of him, tighter, hotter. She screamed as she came and it triggered his own release, his body stiffening and shuddering over hers, a burning, stinging pain tearing through her chest.

“Good girl,” he said, kissing her temple, her forehead, her panting, open lips. “Such a good girl for me.”


	2. The Ladykiller

She woke gasping, her lungs unable to pull in enough air, as if something had been pressed over her mouth. Her hair and pajamas were damp with sweat, her body aching. She remembered fingers streaking over her body, feeling like fire, her arms and legs bound, a wide, wicked smile. The more she tried to grasp for details the quicker it faded until all she could remember were blood red sheets and black leather.

The clock on her nightstand let her know she’d not only slept through breakfast but History was starting in ten minutes. She jumped out of bed, wincing with every step, her hips aching, the muscles tight.

“Ginny, are you ok in there? Are you awake?” Hermione pounded on her door. “Are you coming to History?”

“Yes! I…I overslept. I’ll meet you down there.”

She pulled off her nightdress and froze, catching her reflection in the mirror, her mouth hanging open in shock. There between her breasts was a strange symbol; black, slightly raised like a healing wound. It was made up of a perfect circle filled with swirling arcs and slashes, nearly three inches across. She shook her head in disbelief as another memory raced to the forefront of her mind, flashing for a moment and then sinking back again.

_You’ll be marked for me. You’ll be mine._

A bra was too painful against the wound so she pulled on a soft t-shirt and a bulky sweater, grabbed her books and ran to History.

**** 

She sat, both exhausted and distracted through a lecture on Centaur/Werewolf relations, trying very hard to focus and pay attention for the first fifteen minutes. When the exercise seemed fruitless she sunk low in her seat and flipped through a book of hexes and curses, looking for something that could have caused a burn or cut to appear on her skin in such a specific manor, but found nothing. There were brands issued as punishment or a marking set deep and dark in the skin securing a bond or proving loyalty, but none of the examples listed looked anything like the circle on her chest.

Two rows ahead of her, Hermione leaned over to whisper something in Malfoy’s ear and was met with a frown, a shrug, and an unimpressed Draco leaning his chair back on two legs, his hands folded behind his head. Ginny stifled a snorting laugh as three or four sixth year girls stared at him, chin in hand, as if in a trance, clearly mesmerized by the bleach blond bad boy of Hogwarts holding court in their history class. Ginny had seen how he drank in this female adoration; his usual moody, hermit like behavior turning into winks and sly smiles when the young girls sat in his eye line. In the hallways he held doors for them or picked up stray notes that fell out of their bookbags, handing them back with a lopsided grin and “here you go, darling,” making the girls’ faces turn nearly purple under the weight of their crush. Of course the older girls, Ginny and Hermione, Luna, Angelina and Hannah knew they were watching a hustler at work, a boy who wouldn’t give those girls the time of day unless there was something pretty debauched waiting for him in return. 

Professor Ickleford misplaced one of his pages of notes and excused himself to his office for a moment, leaving the room to talk amongst themselves. Still leaning back on two legs, Malfoy turned around to give Ginny a wink before fluttering one of his trademark bird notes to land on her desk. As soon as it landed she saw Hermione tug on the sleeve of his sweater, pulling his chair back down to solid ground. What was she, his babysitter?

_Nice sex hair today, Red. Who’s the lucky bloke?_

She looked up and saw him leering at her, flicking his tongue lasciviously and laughing when she crumpled up the note and threw it back at him. Of course, she hadn’t had time to brush her hair or even pull it into a ponytail and now she was sure she must look like a wandering wood nymph, circles under her eyes, hair wild, she hadn’t even brushed her teeth. 

Obviously getting no entertainment out of needling her, and still waiting on their professor, Draco leaned behind Hermione to whisper something to Blaise and that’s when Ginny saw it, the Dark Mark on his arm. Usually he did his best to hide it from the rest of them, but while talking he pushed up the sleeve of his black sweater, scratching at his forearm absentmindedly. It was only faint these days, more like a red, fresh scar, but she’d seen enough Death Eaters to know what they looked like when they were triggered, and after it darkened it was just like the mark on her chest.

“Malfoy!” She called quietly. “Draco!”

He turned to her, a bit of confusion on his face. “Yeah, love? What’s up?”

“Can I talk to you after class?”

His face immediately transformed into his ladykiller mask and he nodded. “Of course, Red. Whatever you need.”

By the time Ickleford returned with a long scroll of notes, the bell rang after he only had time to read out a single paragraph. The class filtered out leaving Malfoy, Hermione and Ginny alone.

“Hey ‘Mione, can I talk to Draco alone for a minute?” Ginny asked, knowing it would kill her to not have all the information of whatever was going on. 

“Oh!” Hermione said, faking a surprised look. “Oh sure. I…just make sure you’re at lunch. Both of you need to start eating better.”

They both rolled their eyes at her insistent and overly matronly tone before Ginny closed the door of the classroom and pulled Draco by the elbow over into one of the darker corners. 

“Ooh! What is this Ginevra. Got an itch needs scratching?” He laughed and wagged his eyebrows at her in an infuriating way. For a moment she regretted trusting him with something so personal.

“Listen to me, Malfoy. I just need your advice on something, something that’s freaking me out a bit. 

His face went darker then, more serious and he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

“What?” He asked, and she thought she even saw a flicker of concern cross his brow.

“I…I have to show you something and I don’t want you to be a smart ass or make rude remarks, I just need you to tell me what it is.” 

“Ok, ok. Now you’re scaring me, Red. What’s wrong?” 

His eyes widened as she pulled down on the collar over her oversized sweater, showing him the blackened mark between her breasts. For a moment, of course, he was distracted. As garish and horrible as the wound looked, he could also see the scattering of freckles across her milky white chest, the soft, rounded sides of her breasts, features he’d never taken the time to notice before. And in a blink he saw her on her back beneath him, squirming on a red bed, her legs thrown around his thrusting hips...tears streaming from her eyes. What? Tears? Why would he imagine tears?

“Draco!” 

“I…I’m sorry. I’ve just…I’ve never,” he stepped closer, close enough that she felt herself shrinking away, but only a bit. She could still feel his breath on her skin, the heat radiating from his body. “I don’t know what it is. It looks….ancient. Like a rune or a sigil.”

“A sigil? Who would put a sigil on me? How?”

“I don’t…” his face was hot and he felt a sort of pull towards her, a desire for her. But he was also a horny sex maniac and felt a desire for nearly everyone in the school who had an hour to spare. And still, “Can I, Ginny, can I touch it once?” 

Without even thinking she nodded immediately and he put two fingers against the blackened skin, then up to the hollow of her throat and over her collarbone. She realized that she was holding her breath, that she was frozen in place, unsure of what he was going to do. He looked up and caught her confused stare, her lips parted, her eyes dilated, and he quickly pulled away. It had felt the same, the mark between her breasts felt exactly like the cool, smooth, soft skin of her neck, not scarred or branded. It wasn’t like the Dark Mark at all.

“Is this part of why you can’t sleep?” He asked, his voice hoarse and dry; his mind refusing to focus on the task in front of him. He brushed down over her arm with the back of his hand.

“I think…I don’t know. I woke up and it was there.” She looked down at his hand stroking over her arm and he quickly pulled away.

He nodded and pulled out one of his journals, quickly sketching the lines of the sigil.

“We’ll find out what it means. Once we know what the symbol means, we’ll know what’s going on, or at least have a clue as to who…or what’s involved.” 

She nodded but was still frowning deeply and he could tell she wasn’t holding out very much hope. When she shouldered past him to leave he touched her arm to stop her.

“We’ll fix it, Ginevra,” he said. “I promise you that.”

She flinched back from his touch, a shiver running over her skin, but recovered with a quick shake of her head.

“Th-thanks Malfoy…” she backed out of the room and ran back to the sixth floor.

***** 

Draco got to lunch just in time to flop down in his chair and grab the leftovers from Hermione’s plate. Luna was finished eating, reading over her healer training notes and Blaise was charming a new sixth year recruit with harrowing tales of the battle for Hogwarts. Malfoy wondered if he told the girl which side he was on.

“Where’ve you been? Where’s Ginny?” Hermione asked, her arms crossed over her chest.

“She wasn’t hungry,” Draco said, pouring a glass of water. “And what does it matter where I’ve been? Merlin Granger, for as clingy as you’ve been these past couple of weeks you’d think I’d get the benefit of a blowjob at least.”

Luna looked up with wide, shocked eyes and glanced over at Hermione, waiting for her to flip, but she simply rolled her eyes and sighed, shoving the remains of her lunch in Draco’s direction.

“What did she want to ask you about?” Hermione pushed, leaning forward on her elbows. 

“She had a question about her homework,” he said, his mouth full of cheese, not looking up.

Hermione scrunched up her nose in disgust, surprised at how he’d completely abandoned his haughty “Malfoy” manners, his sharply pressed suits and ties, his sleek, impeccable hair. He was treating this training program like a gap year, just hanging out and getting laid, making jokes and getting drunk while the rest of them were trying to learn something.

“What homework? All we’ve been assigned is reading,” she said, not letting him off the hook.

“Jesus Christ, she asked me to keep it between us, ok? She had a private question and I said I’d help her find the answer, what’s with the third degree?”

“She’s just worried about her friend I think,” Luna said, cutting through the angry tension that simmered between them. “Ginny’s not feeling well and Hermione’s already lost Ron and Harry, she doesn’t want to lose her as well.”

But Malfoy was still holding Hermione’s stare, trying to read some sort of motivation in her eyes. There was nothing there. Nothing. She seemed...blank. Not even a flinch at the mention of Ron’s death. Then it was as if she shook herself loose from some thought or memory and she nodded in Luna’s direction.

“Th-that’s exactly it,” Hermione said, blinking and looking away. “I’m just concerned. She doesn’t look…like herself lately.”

“No,” Draco agreed. “She certainly doesn’t.”

**** 

The men’s dorms were on the seventh floor. Instead of heading to the “study group” in the sixth floor common room that usually devolved into a card game or a four-hour discussion of Who Would You Do, Draco headed off to his room early. The mark on Ginny’s chest may as well have been burned into his own skin. There was no need for him to have drawn it; when he closed his eyes it appeared perfectly; a photographic memory, they called it. Still he kept drawing it, over and over, his fingers covered in ink as he sat at his desk and flipped through a book of symbols; runes and hieroglyphs, sigils and codes.

Of course there was nothing, it would never be that easy; and on top of the mystery of the mark was the problem of his mind wandering to the girl bearing it. Why had she come to him for help, of all the people in the school? That alone was enough to make him fixate on her, the fact that she trusted him with her fear, her suffering. But then he could only think about how close she stood to him, how she smelled like cinnamon and citrus. When he touched the skin on her throat he could hear the parting of her lips, the tiny wet sounds of her mouth. He found himself wondering if Harry had found time in his busy schedule of saving the universe to bang her. Then he found himself imagining what it would be like. None of those things got him any closer to figuring out the meaning of the mark on her chest, and he’d made her a promise that he would; his one good deed for the term.

*****

Angelina was the new conditioning master and she proved herself a hardass from day one, explaining that they’d start each session with a 2 mile run around the pitch followed by calisthenics and weight training.

“Magic can’t build endurance,” was her motto and they all flipped her off whenever she said it as they ran by. 

Hermione, Luna and Draco were back at training after enjoying their two afternoons off and Ginny stood beside them as they stretched after their run. She could feel Draco staring at her, probably working up a scathing insult about her bright red face and sweaty damp hair, but when she caught his eye he only nodded in greeting, jogging in place to keep his muscles warm. She’d never seen him so casual, in a pair of long black running shorts and a grey Slytherin hoodie; and his hair – Ginny couldn’t help but smile at his crazy damp locks and pink cheeks. It was nice to see Malfoy – undone.

Angelina blew her whistle to start pushups and everyone dropped to the pitch. After a few reps Ginny paused and sat back on her heels, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You OK?” Hermione asked, keeping up with her reps, not showing an ounce of fatigue.

“Yeah. I just…I need some water.”

Draco watched her walk off the pitch, her path slow and meandering. Something was wrong. He got to his feet and jogged after her while Hermione sat up and watched, ignoring Angelina’s whistle.

“Ginevra,” he reached out to tap her shoulder.

She’d made the mistake of closing her eyes for a moment at the water fountain. In an instant she could hear him, feel him everywhere around her, his fingers on her skin. 

_Only for me. Night after night.  
_

She felt him touch her shoulder. Her eyes popped open and she turned around just in time to see Malfoy’s concerned face right before her whole world went black.

“Help! Help over here!” Draco caught her before she could hit the ground, but now she was limp in his arms, her face white as snow, eyes fluttering madly behind half closed lids, rolled back so he could only see the whites. A crowd quickly gathered around him with Hermione at the front.

“Probably dehydrated,” Angelina said, hands on her hips, anxious to get back to the task at hand.

“I’ll take her to the Hospital Wing,” she said, elbowing past everyone. She started slapping Ginny on the face lightly, trying to wake her.

“I’ll take her,” said Draco. “I’ve already got her.” He started the long walk back to the castle and Hermione could hear him whispering assurances in her ear.

She frowned and went back to her spot, following the direction of Angelina’s whistle.

**** 

On the way to the castle she woke, confused at the feeling of floating, but being warm in someone’s arms, cradled. She smelled sweat and sandalwood.

“There she is,” he said quietly. “If you wanted to get out of conditioning, couldn’t you use one of your brother’s little tricks?”

“What are you doing?” she asked, twisting in his arms. He immediately set her down, surprised at the scowl on her face.

“You passed out, darling. I was being a gentleman and taking you to the Hospital Wing.”

“I’m fine. I just need some sleep,” she said, rubbing her eyes. She was embarrassed that he’d carried her nearly a quarter of a mile back to the castle. Maybe embarrassed wasn’t the word. She stopped and looked down at her feet. “But thanks.”

“Hey,” he said, “is this something to do with that mark? I looked through my symbology books and I didn’t see anything. Of course if it’s a sigil it would be unique to the user, imbued with an intent that only they know.”

She looked up and he noticed how bloodshot and glassy her eyes were, the dark circles around them. Her bottom lip trembled at the news that Draco had no idea how to help. It was an overreaction for sure, but that’s what exhaustion did. It blew everything out of proportion. She wavered on her feet and he grabbed her shoulders, pointing her in the direction of the moving staircases.

“Go back to your room and I’ll go get you a sleeping draught,” he said, “But after you’ve gotten some rest and a hot meal, I want you tell me everything, or us, really. Luna and Hermione want to help too. You need to tell us how long its been happening, the things you remember. You need to show them the mark. We all have to know. It’s the only way we can help.”

***** 

Draco rarely dreamed. It had taken him months to just get a restful night’s sleep after the battle at Hogwarts, every night a different scene of horror, the bloodied and broken body of a different teacher or student or family member, angry fingers pointing at him through swirls of black smoke, his soul crushed with guilt that pressed all the air from his lungs, waking him with a start. When it got too bad he took draughts of dreamless sleep. Then he tried calming draughts and numbing potions, but in the end it was only time that brought relief. The images needed time to fade, retreating into the background as life went on. He needed to do other things, to see other people, to watch Hogwarts rebuild. When he saw people moving forward, he could finally rest. 

When he did dream, he didn’t remember.

He woke in impenetrable darkness, so black and so endless that it seemed to have a weight to it, pressing into him from all directions, a man held captive by the air.

“She’s calling for you,” her voice said, and he turned and strained and blinked, trying to find the source. His wrists were bound in black chains, stretched out to the sides. She spoke again in a familiar voice that brought him comfort, a voice he’d known for years. “She wants you to take her again, Draco. She wants you inside of her.”

He felt slim, warm fingers sliding up his naked legs, squeezing the muscles of his thighs, one delicate feminine hand wrapping around the thick shaft of his cock, stroking him to his full, impressive length, making him groan and buck into her fist.

“She’s yours now, to do with whatever you please,” she said, and he felt a hot, narrow tongue flick over the head of his prick, while the hands slid up his belly, over his chest. “You’ve marked her and she belongs to you. Don’t deny yourself.”

The mouth closed around him, laving and sucking with slow, nearly soothing strokes, drawing his pleasure out rather than trying to bring it to its heights.

“Only promise me one thing boy,” she said, her mouth pulling away with wet, sensuous pop, “promise me that you’ll empty your seed inside her tight little cunt. Promise me you’ll fill her.”

“I promise you,” were the only words he was able to speak as the voice slipped a heavy silver chain around his neck and lead him out of the darkness.


	3. The Sigil

_“She’s so innocent, so…clean,”_ the voice said, drawing him forward _. “She can make you feel clean. A light in your blackened heart.”_

The girl was sleeping, her body hidden beneath a gauzy white gown, one arm stretched above her head, the other on her belly as if guiding her breath. His mouth watered at the sight of her dark, hardening nipples beneath the thin fabric, the dusky triangle of hair between her legs.

_“She tastes so sweet, and she’ll do whatever you tell her. You’ll be in control. Total control.”_

He crawled onto the bed and ran his hands up the insides of her legs, pulling them apart to settle between them, kissing the delicate bones of her ankles, trailing up her calves with the tip of his tongue. She squirmed and moaned and he pushed her gown up to her hips, revealing the copper red hair covering her warm and waiting pussy. He was already hard, his body responding to the smell of her slick arousal. The velvet smooth feel of her skin bringing his animal lust to the surface. One lick. It was all he needed. Burying his nose in the neat bush of hair, he drew his tongue up between her wet lips, sucking her clit into his mouth, feeling it swell on his tongue. Her body trembled and writhed, but he wanted her to see him. He wanted her to watch him devour her. He needed to see her face when he mad her fall apart.

“Wake up sweet Ginny,” he whispered, rubbing his cheek over the soft skin of her thigh, so warm. His fingers dug deep into the flesh of her hips. “I came back for you. I need you. I crave your taste. I can’t go a night without being inside you. Let me inside you.”

“Please,” she whimpered. He couldn’t tell if she was begging him to stop or begging him for more. Her hands reached out, sinking into his hair and he shuddered as she twisted and pushed beneath him. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t…I’m getting sick. I’m too tired. Please. Don’t you see what you’re doing to me? Why are you hurting me?”

His heart went cold. He was promised. He was promised that he would be in control, that the girl would do what he said, that the girl wanted him, would make him feel…clean. She wasn't supposed to cry. He bit hard into the skin he’d been laving with his tongue and she screamed, her back arching off the bed, legs kicking at his shoulders to push him away. With a fierce tug he ripped her gown from hem to collar, straddling her waist, his knees pinning her arms to the bed.

“You ungrateful whore,” he growled, stroking his cock until it ached and throbbed in his hand. “I offer you my seed. I offer you my prick every night and you dare turn me down?”

“No…please! Please,” she screamed, her eyes open wide, pleading. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Don't hurt me. I’ll be good. I promise.”

Her begging inflamed him. He frowned and grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling hard, making her scream, her beautiful brown eyes glistening, eyelashes shining wet. Maybe some other day he would have pity on her, someday he would have comfort to give her, but he was too blinded by need tonight.

“Open your mouth,” he said, intending to fuck her throat until she couldn’t breathe, until tears streamed down her cheeks and she writhed and bucked against his hips. Something inside him didn't want to hurt her, but he would get what was promised.

Just as he pushed the head of his cock between her lips the chain around his neck tightened, something in the darkness yanking him back.

“ _Fill her cunt, boy_ ,” she said, the purring seduction replaced by fiery anger. “ _Your spunk does me no good running down her throat_.”

He paused, one hand tight around the girl’s throat, his cock heavy in his hands. There was no choice but to obey. Finally he released her neck, letting her gasp for air as he muttered,

“Yes mistress,” before sliding down to wedge himself between her open legs.

******

They all sat together around a small table in the cafe, watching Ginny nurse a mug of tea. She claimed she wasn’t hungry and refused any offers of food, even from Hermione who insisted she needed it for strength, for energy.

“You’ll never make it through conditioning. Your diet is terrible,” she said, shaking her head in disappointment. “I’m sure that’s half the reason you can’t sleep.”

“Tell them,” Draco said, his gaze locked on Ginny’s drawn, pale face, her dull, red-rimmed eyes. This clearly wasn’t anything to do with her diet. “Show them the mark.”

Luna leaned forward in interest but Hermione didn’t move, regarding Ginny with a raised eyebrow of suspicion.

“I…I woke up last week with this,” Ginny started, “…and I don’t remember how it got there, who did it or when. But I woke up in pain, sore and exhausted.”

She looked around the mostly empty Great Hall and undid three of the buttons on her shirt, revealing the mark between her breasts. Once again Draco found himself frozen, eyes locked on her chest. The mark hadn’t changed, but today her breasts were squeezed together beautifully inside a white lace bra, pushed up, twisting and obscuring the symbol as it became hidden between them. He could easily remember the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips, the way she'd looked up at him when he ran his fingers down her arm. He coughed and sat back, not wanting to stare, or worse to be noticed staring.

Luna was entranced, perched on the very edge of her seat, staring at the picture carved into Ginny's skin, black as coal, as if the flesh were dead and charred.

“It’s a sigil!” she said simply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "I recognized some of the symbols, like that egg shape, or the letters around the outside."

“But what does it mean? What’s the intent?” Draco asked, doing his best to keep his eyes off of Ginny, but feeling that pull towards her again, an urge to…protect her from something, to be her shield.

“It looks like a tattoo to me,” said Hermione, resting her chin in her hand.

“A tattoo?” Ginny asked, incredulous and a bit angry. “Do you really think I’d tattoo myself and then make up this whole story? Is that really what you think of me? I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

“Of course not,” Hermione said, sitting back. “I’m only saying what it looks like. No need to get hysterical.”

"I'm not hysterical! I'm just looking for some answers. Every morning I wake up more tired than when I went to sleep, my body aching, my muscles burning. This must have something to do with it."

Draco volleyed his gaze between the two of them, seeing a strange tension and anger that he’d never seen before. Ginny was a hot head of course, he’d seen her knock opponents right off their brooms on the pitch, and she wasn’t one to back down from an argument; but Hermione was a peacekeeper, a caretaker, this fire in her eyes was something new.

“Even if it does, the point isn’t really the mark,” Draco said, cutting the silence. “It’s the fact that she’s now getting physically ill, she can’t sleep, she doesn’t eat, just look at her.”

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Ginny spat.

“No offense, love but you look like shit,” he said. “Three times worse than you looked a week ago, and that’s not just from being unable to sleep.”

“It could be an incubus,” Luna said with a shrug. “My great great aunt Maeve was killed by an incubus…driven to suicide.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and reached out to take Ginny’s hand.

“It’s not an incubus. It’s a cold. It’s stress, it’s a new year at Hogwarts after years of being away, of losing people you loved,” she said. “You’re under the weather and…some...jerk…put a hex on you. The mark is a joke I’m sure. A hot bath, some Pepper Up Potion and you’ll be back to yourself in a few days.”

Ginny looked down at her hands, suddenly feeling foolish, assuming that once again Hermione the Great was right.

“You’re getting her all worked up over nothing,” Hermione said, standing and gathering up her books. “And that’s only going to make her feel worse.”

****

Draco chased Luna down in the hallway on the way to Herbology and pulled her into an empty classroom. 

“Tell me about your Aunt,” he said. “The incubus. Was she branded? Marked like Ginny?”

Luna shrugged, her face blank.

“I don’t know really. It was decades ago obviously. But I’ve heard the story of how she started taking potions and tried to create charms to keep herself awake. She was afraid to sleep for fear of being punished by _him._ Just like Ginny she complained of being sore, of being exhausted. After a while she started talking about _him_ every waking minute, what he wanted from her, what he’d done to her. Although I would assume that if Ginny were being stalked by an incubus she’d remember what he’d done to her, because it sounded awful. People started talking behind her back that she'd lost her mind. But that was near the end. My uncle said that in the beginning her husband would sit up all night in her bedroom and read, just watching her sleep. She felt safe then. But no one could watch her all the time.”

*****

Draco found her in the library in a dark corner of the restricted section, a stack of books scattered in front of her. Her folded arms cradled her head, long copper hair fanned out over the table as she slept. For a moment she looked peaceful, her features soft, lips parted. She looked far younger, softer, and he smiled at the sight of it. But in an instant, her face changed in her sleep. He watched her brow furrow, her eyes start to flutter beneath the lids.

“Ginny,” he said softly, wondering if he should wake her, but also knowing this could be important, a clue.

Her whole body jerked, the force of it scratching her chair across the stone floor. Her hands stretched out, nails digging into the wood of the table as if she were trying to hold on, clinging for dear life.

“Ginny!” he called, louder, reaching out. But something prevented him from touching her. Something told him to stay back.

Her mouth pouted out in a trembling frown and she shook her head.

“No, no,” she said. “Please…I won't. I won't…please!”

Her body jerked again and her fingers scratched across the table, one of her nails bending backwards and breaking off. She contorted in her seat, her back arching and flexing, her head snapping backwards. He couldn’t handle it anymore and he fought through whatever it was that kept him away.

“Ginny wake up!” He grabbed her arms and pulled her away from the table, wrapping his arms around her so her back was pressed to his chest. She was stiff in his arms, her skin cold to the touch, and then in a single breath she went limp. “Ginny?”

She blinked awake, surrounded again by the smell of sandalwood and cedar. She was being held again. It was Malfoy again. Of course she should have pushed away instantly, pulled his hands off of her, but something about his warmth, the strong feeling of his chest kept her still.

“You can let me go,” she said quietly, confused and disoriented. “I’m fine. It’s over.”

“What was it?” He whispered, not ready to release her, liking the feeling of her warm body against his, his arms wrapped around her waist, his nose in her hair. “Tell me what it was.”

She pried herself out of his arms and sat down hard in the chair, holding her head in her hands, trying to remember. Why couldn’t she remember? It had only been a minute ago! She shook her head in frustration and he crouched down in front of her, his hands on her knees. 

“I couldn't see anything. It was just darkness. I don’t know…it was a voice…angry…” she said, shaking her head. “I couldn’t move.”

The bell rang indicating it was time for healer training and she jumped, every nerve alive with fear, every sound and movement startling her. Malfoy's touch made her uneasy. Not because it was him, but as if someone were watching, judging. She pulled herself away from him and stood, gathering her books.

“Ginny, you need to go see Pomfrey…or McGonagall,” he said, still on his knees, watching her make her way to the end of the aisle. “You need to find out what’s happening before it does irreparable damage.”

She whirled around on him with sudden anger, her eyes more fiery and energetic than he’d seen in weeks.

“Don’t you think I know that? You told me to tell Luna and Hermione and look where that got me. They think I'm crazy. Do me a favor Draco, quit telling me what I need to do, and unless you have a solution, just leave me alone!” 

****

After dinner she went back to her room and took a long bath, the water hot enough to sting, feeling the need to scrub her skin nearly raw with soap and flannel. When she got out her skin was red and sensitive, tender to the touch, particularly the dark sigil between her breasts that burned with each pass of her fingers. The closer she got to bedtime the deeper it ached, pulsing with each heartbeat. Looking in the bathroom mirror she pointed her wand at the sigil and whispered,

“Finite,” but nothing happened. “Scourgify!” Nothing. 

She attempted a concealment charm, even an old charm from fourth year that was supposed to cure acne…nothing worked and she hadn’t really expected it to. She pulled on her nightgown and pulled her hair into a ponytail, praying for a single night of uninterrupted sleep. 

A soft knock at the door roused her from her thoughts.

“I’m not going to study group,” she called. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She shuffled toward her bed, her hands trembling, mouth dry. The last few nights had made her fear her bed; the soft down pillows and thick duvet looking like a torture chamber. The cozy four poster had always been one of her favorite things about Hogwarts; the way she could close herself off with the curtains, snuggling in to her own little oasis on rainy nights, or coccooning herself from the cold in the dead of winter. It was so unlike her bedroom in the old Burrow, with people walking in and out all the time, no privacy, one flat, old pillow. She thought back to her second year, how she’d jumped onto her bed the minute she’d gotten back to school, throwing her arms around the thick, fluffy bedding and rolling herself up in it. She wanted that sanctuary back. 

The knock came again.

“It’s me,” Draco said, “I…I have an idea.”

There weren’t necessarily rules about men skulking around in the women’s barracks, but it wasn’t exactly welcomed either. Of course one of the first lessons of the year was how to perform a contraceptive charm and how to protect against magical sexual diseases, so it was clear they didn’t hold out much hope for abstinence. She opened the door and ushered him into the room quickly, scanning the hallway for nosy, wandering fifth years anxious to spread gossip, but it was surprsingly empty and it was barely nine o’clock. 

Draco looked nervous, wearing a pair of sleep shorts and an old Slytherin Quidditch t-shirt, half of the letters worn away. His hair was damp, pushed back from his face as if he’d just emerged from the shower. A little flare of heat rushed up the back of her neck as she imagined what he’d look like under the stream of water, _his body streaked with dirt and oil.  
_

“Hey Draco,” she said, trying to look anywhere but on his heavy, penetrating gaze. She’d never seen him quite so focused.

“Ginevra,” he said, pacing around her room while he spoke. “I talked to Luna this afternoon about her great aunt. The one who was plagued…”

“An incubus,” Ginny said, sitting down at her desk chair. “That’s what you think it is?”

She had avoided saying it out loud, but the truth was that in all her research, an incubus seemed to be the most likely cause of her pain and the more she read about the demon, the more terrified she was. They were known to scar and maim and kill or drive their victims to suicide like Luna had said. And yet all of her reading had failed to tell her how to fix it. The incubus could take the form of someone she knew, it could shape shift, it could attack men _and_ women, vanishing into thin air the moment they awoke. The only way to stop it was to kill it, and she hadn't yet found out how.

Draco crouched in front of her and pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. It was a page from a very old book…that he’d just torn out. Ginny could almost hear Hermione screaming at the horror of it all.

“Just look, this was from a book of symbols and sigils I found in the restricted section…after you stomped off the other day. These are the different shapes and symbols used in creating sigils and look at this…” he pointed to an old, faded symbol drawn in a shaky hand, but disturbingly similar to the marking on her chest, the small egg within an egg lying on its side, a curling arc with an arrowhead on the end of it and a series of letters etched around the outside.

“What is this?” she asked, her voice barely audible, her fingers running over the lines. She looked at the caption _Fertility Sigil_. “Fertility?! What?” She looked up at him in complete confusion but he had no answers, only speculation.

“I think Luna was right, Ginevra. I think it’s an incubus, attacking you when you sleep, and he's marked you as...his.”

She was suddenly flooded with the sound of his voice in the darkness...the feel of his tongue, his sharp fingernails.

_You were meant for me. Your body aches for me. Can’t you feel how we fit together?_

_You’ll be marked for me. You’ll be mine. Only mine. Night after night._

_Oh my good girl. Such a good girl for me._

She stood up and stumbled away from him, suddenly feeling as if she hadn’t scrubbed her skin enough, feeling grimy and ashamed, covered in filth. She felt as if he could see through her skin, into her mind, reading her thoughts. Sitting on the edge of her bed Ginny wrapped her arms around herself, covering her chest, her stomach, it suddenly felt wrong to have Malfoy in the room with her, as if she were contagious, contaminated. This…incubus…was having sex with her, trying to impregnate her…while she slept? Her cheeks burned while her stomach roiled with disgust.

“I don’t remember,” she said, staring at the floor. “I don’t remember anything like that. Why wouldn't I remember something like that?”

“It probably doesn't want you to remember." He walked over to her and pulled back the duvet on the bed. "Here, lay down,” he said, patting her pillow. Her eyes went wide and she backed away from him, misunderstanding his intention. “Luna said the only way her aunt got any rest was when her uncle sat guard. I’m going to watch you sleep,” he said with a nervous cough. It sounded creepy and awkward when he said it out loud, but she looked at him with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

“You were watching me in the library and he still…someone still attacked me,” she said, not moving from her spot. “What good will-“

“Because I woke you up,” he said, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. “I interrupted him...it, and the punishment stopped and you were ok. Maybe if I’m here from the start it won’t even come,” he said. “We’ll just try it. Just tonight,” he said.

He was standing far too close to her. If he lowered his eyes he’d be able to see down the front of her nightgown. If he leaned in closer he could kiss her, pulling her against his chest, holding her until she fell asleep. But she pulled away from him and got into bed as he'd ordered, pulling up the covers.

“And in the morning I’ll be gone.”

She turned onto her side, facing away from him, uncomfortable with the idea of Malfoy being in her bedroom while she slept, seeing her in her pajamas, standing so close. Was he expecting her to offer her bed? To ask him to lay beside her, hold her? Would it be so horrible if he did? Her eyes burned with exhaustion, her lids heavy, blinking slow. Maybe it wouldn’t come. If Malfoy was with her, it wouldn’t come…

He could tell by her breathing that she’d fallen asleep. Her body gave a final jerk as she went under and she flipped onto her back, kicking off her covers, one arm stretched above her head,

_the other on her belly as if guiding her breath._

Something flashed in his thoughts like a memory, a scrap of a dream. He’d seen her like this before, or imagined it. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit to thinking about her when he was alone, his hand moving beneath the sheets as he fantasized. But he’d imagined her naked, he’d imagined her on her knees, or squirming beneath him, or riding on top, her hips rolling, breasts bouncing... And yet this image of her…this white nightgown, not sexy or revealing, just plain white cotton…it was as if he’d lived it before.

He shook his head clear and picked up the book he’d brought along to entertain him and whether it was due to Malfoy's vigilance or not, Ginny finally slept through the night.


	4. The Punishment

True to his word Draco was gone when she woke, the sun streaming through the windows, rose tinted by the red fabric of her curtains. She sat up and stretched, feeling well rested for the first time in weeks, no aching in her muscles, no headache or cold sweat, no fear of closing her eyes and reliving terror. Hoping against hope she pulled her nightgown over her head and stood in front of the full length mirror, but the sigil was still there, still black as night, a garish stain on her milky white flesh. Her eyes slid over to the chair that Draco had spent the night in, the book he’d borrowed hanging over the arm. She couldn’t ask him to do it again, to spend every night watching her. There had to be another way.

Draco had waited until the sun split the horizon, a yellow gray line cutting through the mist, before he snuck out of her room. She’d fallen asleep almost instantly and he sat watching for nearly seven hours, sometimes reading, occasionally dozing, but mostly just watching Ginny at rest. At one point she’d curled on her side facing him, a lock of hair swirling over her cheek and between her lips. He stood and crouched beside her bed, running his finger down her cheek, tucking the stray hair behind her ear. When she slept she looked like her old self, fierce and yet soft, her brow unfurrowed, her lips soft and parted. Her lips. Her mouth. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted so badly to crawl into the bed beside her and pull her against his chest, stroking her hair, tickling his fingers up and down her back. It had been a long time since he'd felt the warmth of another body.

In the years since the war started he’d made a point of isolating himself; much to the dismay of his parents who worried about his mental condition, watching him withdraw and grow more sullen and silent. Lucius had tried to ply him with women when they were in hiding in London, supplying him with all too willing witches and some that were paid to act that way. He’d done his best and honestly tried to fuck them in any number of ways. First trying to scare them, biting their lips and pinning their wrists; then surprising them with sweet words and gentle touches, compliments and seduction. But nothing worked for him. The flesh was willing of course, and he was always hard at the sight of a naked woman in his bed, but he felt no connection and had no desire to make one. He hadn’t…earned what they were offering him and he didn’t want to be accused of taking it. As soon as he touched them he imagined them running back to their friends, weeping and ranting about how they’d been fed to the minotaur in the maze. Lucius had dragged them in and the evil Draco Malfoy had raped them, giggling with delight. In the end he’d told them to get dressed, offered them drinks and a chaste kiss on the cheek and they floo’d home, safe and sound, to the people they actually wanted to be with, the men they wanted to fuck.

“But…your father…” one of them had whispered, glancing toward the door of his bedroom with barely concealed terror. “He told me…”

“He doesn’t care about you,” Draco said, not unkindly. “He’s doing this to lift my spirits; make a man out of me.” He drained the vodka he’d poured and threw a handful of floo powder into the flames. “Just go. I’ll tell him you did a wonderful job.”

Even now he wasn’t quite sure that he wanted to…sleep with…Ginny. It was just that he felt a certain connection to her, a desire to let her hide in his wings, protecting her from something neither of them could see. So for a while he just sat next to the bed in the dark, running his fingers through her hair, smiling as she mewled and sighed, comfortable in her dreams.

*****

“So what are you going to do?” Hermione asked as they all sat together eating breakfast. “Make Draco give up his health to monitor your nightmares?”

Ginny looked exceptionally bright and happy, eating eggs and sausages and two biscuits slathered in butter. She was utterly unfazed by Hermione’s biting remarks, too relieved and re-energized to bother with fighting. Draco looked exhausted, but not miserable, his eyelids heavy but his face soft, a mask of relief.

“What do you mean?” Luna asked. "What's wrong with you. She's been so uncomfortable. Can’t you just be happy for her? For a day?”

They all glanced over at Luna, surprised to hear her turn on Hermione, or even raise her voice at all. But she was only saying what everyone thought. Hermione wasn’t herself, not today, not since training had started nearly a month ago. Her tone was sharp and judgmental, as if she held herself above the rest of them. Yes, she was the only remaining member of the amazing Golden Trio, but she was still just a witch, just a human like the rest of them. None of them had done anything to earn this ire.

“I’m very happy that she got a good night’s sleep,” Hermione said with a sigh, as if they were all children, incapable of understanding her. “But it’s ridiculous to think that the only way she can make it through the school year is to have Draco Malfoy watching her for eight hours a night. It’s not fair to Draco. It doesn't solve the problem, it just creates a new one.”

“It won’t be every night,” Draco said, yawning, stealing a sausage off of Luna’s plate. “We’re going to find a way to get rid of the incubus and then she’ll be back to her old self. Or maybe all she needed was one good night. Scare it off. Besides, I can take a nap after dinner, while the rest of you witches sit around doing your nails.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave up the fight. Ginny was watching him eat, the exhaustion on his face mixed with a confident optimism that made her feel like…for the first time in a while, it was going to get better.

*****

She was kneeling in darkness, the floor beneath her cold and rough, cutting into the tender flesh of her shins. For a long time she was alone, shaking, staring into a void of nothingness, but even in the silence she somehow knew that she was in trouble. She was put here for a reason, and she could feel the anger seeping through her skin like a poison.

“You’ve been trying to hide from me, girl,” he said, but still she couldn’t see him. She didn’t need to; his voice was enough.

“I – I just need to rest. I need sleep, I’ve been sick.”

She screamed as her arms were pulled out to the sides, so hard and so fast that she could feel a stinging tear in the muscles at her shoulder. Heavy chains, oily and dark, wrapped around her wrists like serpents, coiling up to her elbow to hold her in place. When she struggled they pulled tighter, pinching and twisting her skin between the links.

“Please,” she sobbed. “You’re hurting me!”

He was suddenly right beside her, crouching down to hiss in her ear.

“You’re hurting yourself, little ruby,” he said, his hand covering her naked breast, long fingers twisting and tugging at the nipple until she cried out. “Perhaps your punishment will teach you to behave.”

He pushed down on the back of her neck until she collapsed forward, her forehead touching the cold floor, arms painfully stretched up and spread out behind her back like bird wings.

“I’m sorry,” she stuttered through her tears, closing her eyes, her muscles tensed as she awaited the unknown. “Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry.”

A hiss cut through the silence and she felt a hot line of fire across her back, between her shoulders. Her scream echoed through the cavernous dark.

“I told you,” he said, sadly, pitifully, with mock compassion. “I told you when I marked you that you would be mine. Only for me.” Another lash of the whip cut across her ass and she groaned in agony, pressing her cheek to the cool floor, praying for relief. “Night after night.”

Each lash was hotter and harder than the last until she was sure that she was dripping blood, her skin torn to ribbons, arms trembling in their bindings.

“Why would you try to deny me what is mine? What you agreed to give me?” he asked, this time standing in front of her, his bare, dirty feet looking as if he’d walked over coals, beaten and faded black leather pants slung low on his hips. His strong, sinewy arms were crossed over his bare chest, the familiar silver chain hanging heavy around his neck. He lifted her face from the ground with one foot beneath her chin. Ginny was sobbing, her mind a whirl of humiliation, pain, exhaustion, confusion. Her eyes were puffed and red, tears streaming down her face and over her lips so that she tasted the salt of them on her tongue. Yet when her eyes met his she saw nothing but ice, his beautiful mouth turned down in a frown of disappointment.

“Are you expecting sympathy from me, kitten? Reprieve?”

“I just – I can…I can be yours, I promise. But not every night. I can’t do it,” she said between shuddering sobs. “Please. I don’t eat, I don’t get enough rest to get through my day. I’m weak, I’m sick…” she struggled, pulling against the chains that still held her in place, then gave up, hanging her head in defeat. "I'm so scared."

“My poor, pretty Ruby,” he said, stroking her hair, lifting her face to kiss her. She sighed at the gentle touch of his lips, feeling a rush of need and want for him, her punishment momentarily forgotten. But when he pulled away it was gone, the spell broken. “Now she learns what happens when you spread your legs for the first beast who asks.”

She heard him step back, unfastening the fly of his pants.

“No please,” she whispered, watching him stroke up and down the length of his hardening prick, his eyes bright with lust. “No more. Please, I can’t.”

Her back still ached, burned with the pain of her whipping, her arms felt as if they were being torn apart at the joints. He yanked her head back up by the hair and brushed the swollen head of his cock over her tear slicked lips.

“Of course you can,” he said, almost kindly, his voice soft, a purr of seduction. “And you will.”

She whimpered as he pulled harder at her hair but did her best to resist him, her lips clamped tightly together.

“Open your mouth,” he growled, clearly unhappy with her stubbornness.

When she didn’t comply she felt a deep ache building in her chest. It grew hotter and hotter until she could smell the acrid smoke of burning flesh, nearly blinded with agony. The sigil between her breasts was glowing yellow orange, searing hot. Ginny screamed, pulling hard at her restraints, her stomach roiling with nausea.

“Will you behave, sweet girl?” he asked, his voice calm and even.

“Yes!” she screamed. “Please make it stop. I’ll be good. Please!”

 

In an instant the burning stopped, her chains fell away and she collapsed to the floor in relief. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to a soft, luxurious bed, pulling her down into his arms to stroke her hair, cooing and purring comfort in her ear. The cool satin sheets were soothing against her skin, the whip lashes gone, no pain as he ran his fingers down her back. The muscles in her shoulders loosened and her tears dried.

“You may find a man who is willing to help you, a man who will be kind and gentle with you, romantic. He’ll tell you he cares about you,” he said, his hand running down over her breasts, parting her legs. “But underneath all of their pretty play acting, they’re all like me.” She gasped as he slid two long fingers inside her, shocked to find she was already wet, his hand pumping in and out of her with ease. “They only want one thing.”

He covered her with kisses, his fingers curling inside her to find the spot that made her writhe in ecstasy. His tongue drew swirls and circles on her belly, over her hip bones before he buried his nose between her spread legs, licking at her shining wet lips while he fingered her. Sliding back up to capture her mouth, she threw her arms around his neck, feeling the hot head of his cock pressing up against her entrance.

“You’re trying to drive me insane, aren’t you? You won’t stop until you’ve driven me crazy,” she said, whining as he teased her, rubbing against her clit.

“No no, my love,” he said, pushing deep inside her, growling at the way her back arched off of the bed, her breasts pressing against his chest. “I won’t stop until you’re dead.” 

**** 

She woke up screaming. Draco had watched her sleep for nearly five days before she swore she could do it alone, confident that he’d broken the spell, although the sigil still remained it barely ever ached during the day. In the moments before she was fully awake she could remember the whiplashes, the cold floor against her skin, she could remember him fucking her, hard and fierce, laughing in triumph when she came. She could remember how she was torn between wanting him and being terrified of him. Still, in all of these memories she could never see his face, never remember anything but sounds and feelings, the smell of their sex, the taste of his skin. The rest of it would come in flashes throughout the day…never letting her forget.

She ran to the bathroom and turned the shower on to the hottest water she could stand, scrubbing at her skin with a bar of soap until it stung with oversensitivity, the water hurting her flesh as it rinsed the suds away.

The moment he woke he pulled on his clothes and ran down to the sixth floor. There was an acidy pit in his stomach, the need to check on her, make sure she’d slept. Outside her room, Draco heard her sobbing, heard the shower running as she cried. His heart sunk with the knowledge that he’d let her down. He never should have let her sleep alone, not until they found an answer. He pounded on the door, yelling her name.

“Ginny! Ginny let me in!”

It wasn’t even seven a.m. and around him doors opened, various girls poking their heads out, hissing at him to be quiet. Inside the room the crying stopped but the water kept running. He knew that she’d heard him.

“Ginny, open up!” He pounded harder, then looking down the both ends of the long hallway he backed up and kicked the door in. 

She stood outside the bathroom wrapped in her thick white towel, her hair wet down her back, her red face streaked with tears. The sight of Draco in her doorway filled her with a sense of relief and safety that she’d never expected, even though he’d essentially broken the door down.

“Draco…he…” she stumbled a few steps closer before collapsing to her knees, crying into her hands in a crumpled heap at his feet.

He sat on the floor in front of her and pulled her into his arms, letting her cry. She held tight to the fabric of his shirt, hiding her face in his chest.

“It’s ok. You’re ok,” he said. “I won’t leave you alone again. I promise,” he said, stroking her hair, holding her as she fell weakly against him.

“I can’t ask you…I can’t ask you to do that for me,” she said, finally looking up, her wet, beautiful eyes staring into his. “It isn’t fair.”

Without thinking, his hand moved to her cheek, wiping a tear away. She leaned into his touch and he brushed his thumb over her lips.

“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else,” he whispered, as if revealing his darkest secret. 

Their faces, their mouths were only a breath apart. He wanted her to know, he wanted her to feel that it wasn’t just a sense of duty. It wasn’t just him making up for the ass that he was as a child. He wanted her to know that he felt something more, that he’d changed and he was worthy of her if she gave him a chance. If he could save her, kill this beast or exorcise it, imprison it, she would be free, then she would know. Until then,

He kissed her.

She could feel it coming. She saw his eyes darken, his pupils dilate. She could feel it in the way he was breathing. He lifted both hands to her face, holding her so tenderly by the jaw, pulling her close, his lips touching hers, pushing them apart, his tongue slipping tenderly over hers. A whimper vibrated between the two of them as she kissed back, holding tight to his forearms, dizzied by his touch.

Dizzy. Then hot. Too hot. Both of them clung tighter to each other, feeling as if they were falling into darkness, a deep, endless dark, cold and damp.

In an instant they each saw everything. Draco remembered his dreams, the chain around his neck, the voice drawing him to the girl in the bed.

_ She’s there for you…she’s all for you boy.   
_

Her fiery red hair and milky skin dotted with freckles that he’d laved with his tongue, tasting every inch, her beautiful breasts and their dark, hardened nipples, her body arching towards his as he slipped inside her, took her virginity, fucked her until she cried, begging him to stop.

_ Are you expecting sympathy from me? _

He saw the whip in his hand, saw it snapping in the air and leaving a red stripe across her skin, criss crossed wounds as she begged him to stop.

She saw him, his long, beautiful limbs and white gold hair, his steel colored eyes burning into hers.

_ You’ve been hiding from me   
_

She watched as she begged on her knees for him to let her go, to let her heal, and his mouth split into a wide toothy grin, chucking her under the chin with his foot.

They both felt their bodies, slick with sweat, joined together, his cock sliding through her wetness, pushing her to the brink of orgasm, his hands tangled in her hair, her heels digging into his back. She begged him to fuck deeper and harder, begged him to let her come.

_I’m going to fill you. You’ll feel it leaking hot on your thighs long after I’ve gone._

Ginny pushed herself away from him, scrambling across the floor. 

“GET OUT!” she screamed, looking into Draco’s horrified face. She didn’t think it was possible for him to look paler, white as a ghost, his eyes wide.

He was the torturer. 

He was the one who hurt. 

“Ginny I didn’t…” he stood and tried to walk to her, unsure of what he could even say. The truth sounded so impossible. The truth was that he never remembered these things until they’d kissed. He never would do those things to her voluntarily, something was wrong. Something had possessed him. They were both victims…somehow.

“Just go. Get away from me Malfoy,” she said sadly, putting the armchair between them, as if he would attack her right now. As if it were actually him that had attacked her at all. It wasn't him.

His heart broke at the sight of her fear, the distance she put between them.

He was the monster.

He was the one who stole her sleep.

“I’m sorry, Ginny. I didn’t know. I promise you I didn't know,” he said, walking out of the room.

He was the incubus.


End file.
